


Korobeiniki

by piggy09



Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Neighbors, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-06
Updated: 2018-05-06
Packaged: 2019-05-03 03:03:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14559438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/piggy09/pseuds/piggy09
Summary: “Do mind the noise,” Rachel says. “You aren’t the only people in this apartment complex, you know.” And she steps back inside, and closes the door.From outside, she hears Sarah say “Bitch.”“Sarah!” says Alison.“What? She didn’t even say her name or anythin’, just said somethin’ snippy and closed the door in our bloody faces.”“I will kill her,” Helena says.“No,” say the other three in unison.





	Korobeiniki

The apartment next to Rachel’s has been moving furniture in and out  _all day_. Rachel has tried noise-canceling headphones, she’s tried turning the volume up as high as it will go – nothing. She has two days a week that aren’t consumed by DYAD and the only thing she wants is to spend it in absolutely quiet solitude. Instead: crash, thump, bang. 

Eventually she gives up, and opens her door to look outside.

She doesn’t really see her neighbors much; all she knows is that there are four of them crammed together in an (admittedly luxurious) apartment intended for one person. She has seen two of them: the one with the neat uniform and neater brown ponytail, who occasionally gives Rachel a tight smile if they leave their apartments at the same time, and the excitable-looking one with the glasses and dreadlocks. She knows there are two more because she can hear them yelling. 

Through the wall.

At night.

Today all four of them are out in rare form, shoving furniture into the hallway, bickering cheerily amongst themselves. Rachel’s two recognizable neighbors are there, and the other two are as well: twins, apparently, with matching tangles of brown and blonde hair. The blonde one is lying on a recently-moved couch, licking bean dip out of a container. The brunette is trying to move the couch. She’s very fit.

“Oh, hey,” says the woman with dreadlocks when Rachel steps out of her apartment. “Hey, hi, are we being super loud? I’m  _so_  sorry, we’re just trying to get a jump on spring cleaning – out with the old, in with the new, right?”

“Cosima’s trying to get this hot chick from work to come over and fix our feng shit,” says the brunette twin lazily. Her voice is British – interesting – and she gives Rachel a slow once-over before meeting her eyes again.

“Feng  _shui_ , Sarah,” says Cosima. 

“Sure.”

The woman with the ponytail clears her throat. “I’m sorry!” she says. “I don’t think we’ve ever properly introduced ourselves. I meant to bake a batch of cookies when we moved in, but the process of settling was so rough that–”

“Helena,” says the blonde twin in an Eastern European accent, pointing a finger at herself. “Alison.” She points at the woman with the ponytail. “Cosima.” She points at Cosima. “Sarah.” She points at her sister. “That is my  _sestra_. If you hurt her I will kill you.”

“Helena,” says Sarah, sounding pained.

“If you hurt any of them,” Helena says, “I will kill you.”

There is no good way to react to this. Rachel measures all of them up in her mind, chooses Cosima at random as the voice of reason. (The odds of any of them are slim.) “How long will this process take?” she says.

“Uh,” says Cosima.

“Do mind the noise,” Rachel says. “You aren’t the only people in this apartment complex, you know.” And she steps back inside, and closes the door.

From outside, she hears Sarah say “ _Bitch_.”

“Sarah!” says Alison.

“What? She didn’t even say her name or anythin’, just said somethin’ snippy and closed the door in our bloody faces.”

“I will kill her,” Helena says.

“ _No_ ,” say the other three in unison.

“She’s hot, though,” Sarah says.

Rachel hears a muffled sound that may or may not be Alison exploding. She goes into her apartment – the noise starts up again, raucous and self-pleased. She still minds it. If she’s smiling a little bit, no one needs to know.

* * *

Tragically, after that the residents of apartment 324 believe that Rachel is their friend. They all manage to learn Rachel’s name. Alison tries to make small talk in the elevator. Cosima waves in a wild swinging of her arm and open palm, every time she sees Rachel in the corridor.

Rachel starts seeing Sarah around.

Usually Sarah is coming home around the same time Rachel is leaving. (“I’m a bartender,” she says, completely unprompted, as she unlocks the apartment door at an ungodly hour of the morning. “Shitty hours, free drinks, yeah?”

Rachel doesn’t answer. Obviously. Because they aren’t friends – though none of the women next door seem to realize this – and Rachel will uphold this even if they don’t.) She twitches her eyebrows up every time she sees Rachel; sometimes she smirks. She wears ripped-up combinations of leather and fabric and – alright, fine, she’s very attractive. Despite the lack of personal hygiene. But she is also Rachel’s neighbor, and she is attached to her other roommates like a particularly exhausting tumor, and Rachel absolutely does not want to engage with anything from Apartment 324. At all.

 

One time, Sarah was heading into the elevator going up as Rachel stepped out of it on the ground floor. Sarah was accompanied by a girl who was draped all over her, hands tucked in the waistband of Sarah’s pants, lips pressed to Sarah’s throat.

 

Rachel didn’t say anything. She doesn’t say anything. She  _isn’t going to say anything_ –

She says something. The next time she sees Sarah – she’d stayed late for a particularly odious meeting, and so the sight of Sarah leaving her apartment is something close to comforting.

“Is your sister a hermit,” Rachel says, and Sarah jumps.

“She speaks,” Sarah says, and then smirks.

“Obviously a mistake,” Rachel says, and moves past her in the hallway towards her own door.

“Hey,” Sarah says, “wait, no, don’t – run back to your bloody – I was jokin’, it was a joke. Nah, Helena’s not a hermit, she just takes the fire escape.”

Rachel turns around before she can put a key in the door. “The fire escape is broken. It’s been broken for years. It’s hazardous.”

“Yeah,” Sarah says, “that’s why none of us – y’know what, c’mere, I’ll show you.” She slides her phone out of her pocket, starts tapping applications. Rachel presses her finger into the jagged edge of her key and then steps close enough to look.

Sarah smells like floral body soap and patchouli. Rachel tries not to get too close as she watches Sarah’s video: a shaky perspective of Helena scaling the fire escape like a demented monkey, face blank and serene as she scrambles up the spikes of metal.

Rachel exhales shakily through her nose. “Right?” Sarah says. “Dunno how she isn’t dead, but she’s always been bloody insane so I’ve givin’ up on tryin’ to stop her.”

“Always?” Rachel says. “Were you raised together?”

Sarah’s face twists into that amused expression again. “Much as I’d love to chat,” she says, “finally, I’m gonna be late for work. Unless you want to come with me, bum a free drink off of my shitty establishment.”

“I don’t,” Rachel says.

“Harsh,” Sarah says. She pockets her phone again, flips Rachel a quick snap of a salute, and makes her way to the elevator.

…oh, goddamnit.

* * *

The next Saturday, Alison tries to bring Rachel a plate of cookies. Unfortunately as she’s bustling in with the plate she notices Rachel’s…guest…at the kitchen table, squeaks “Oh!”, drops the plate, and flees.

…admittedly, they’re very good cookies. Rachel’s guest doesn’t try them, because Rachel makes her leave after finishing her tea.

* * *

“I’m not a homophobe,” Alison says, when Rachel is trapped in the elevator with her later.

“Thank you,” Rachel says. She watches the elevator numbers move down at the speed of frozen molasses.

“We’re all gay!” Alison says. “I mean, we all share same-gender attraction – Cosima and I are lesbians, Sarah is bisexual, and – honestly, who knows with Helena. But we’re very accepting! Obviously! I didn’t mean to imply that we weren’t!”

“Thank you for the dessert,” Rachel says.

Alison clears her throat and looks straight ahead at the elevator dial. When they reach the ground floor, she bolts out of the elevator like someone has lit a fire under her.

* * *

At the end of the week, there’s a banging on her door. She checks the peephole: Sarah. She opens it.

“You’re comin’ for dinner,” Sarah says.

“I have plans,” Rachel says.

“Alison’s bloody dying because she can’t get a read on you. You’re coming to dinner.”

“I am not homophobic,” Rachel says, “nor am I planning to join your lesbian commune. Good night.” She closes the door–

–and Sarah sticks her foot in. “Come on,” she says. “Cos is a great cook when she’s not too stoned for it. Alison made cookies.”

Rachel blinks at Sarah. Slamming the door on her foot would be rude, probably. Unforgivably rude? She can’t decide.

“If you do this,” Sarah says, “you don’t have to deal with Alison’s guilt floodin’ the elevator every time you’re with her.”

Rachel grudgingly opens the door. She wishes she had time to tuck her blouse back into her skirt or pull on shoes; as it is she’s barefoot and the blouse is hanging, loose and transparent, down to her hips. She feels utterly armorless. Thankfully Sarah is wearing a tank top and tight jeans, so it’s not as if there’s a dress code.

“I need shoes,” she tries anyways.

“I’m not letting you close the bloody door,” Sarah says.

Rachel exhales through her nose and grudgingly enters the hallway. She unlocks her door and closes it behind her, gives Sarah a heavy look as they walk next door.

“Hey,” Sarah says. “Now you can learn about me and Helena. ‘cause I know you wanted to, before.”

“Don’t make me regret my interest,” Rachel says.

“Never,” Sarah says, and bangs the door open.

“Cos,” she bellows as she enters, “you owe me ten quid.”

“What?” Cosima says, sticking her head out of their kitchen. It’s the same as Rachel’s kitchen – sleek, modern – but cluttered to the brim with herb plants and decorative knit covers and half-finished boxes of cereal.

“Oh, shit,” Cosima says. “Rachel! Hey. You want wine, or like something…herbal?”

“Holy shit,” Sarah says, voice strangled with laughter. “She hasn’t even been in the door five bloody seconds and you’re offerin’ to smoke her out?”

“Hey, dude, I don’t judge based on appearance,” Cosima says. “That a yeah? No?”

“No,” Rachel says.

“Cool,” Cosima says, and vanishes back into the kitchen. In retrospect Rachel should have taken the wine – the entire bottle, really, and as quickly as possible.

When Rachel looks back, she finds that Sarah has vanished; she’s left Rachel behind to go into the living room of Apartment 324, where Rachel can hear a synthesized bleat of music and the low rumble of Helena’s voice. She follows.

In the living room, Helena is playing a video game with colored blocks. Sarah has dropped down onto the couch next to her; she’s playing with the ends of Helena’s hair. In a chair across the room Alison is frantically knitting.

When she sees Rachel come in, she stands up. “Hello!” she says. “Welcome! Would you like something to drink?”

“Cos already tried to give her a joint,” Sarah says.

Alison blanches.

“No,” Rachel says, “thank you.” She takes a seat on the couch next to Sarah, watches blocks fall and disappear at a dizzying rate. Helena’s focus is on the screen and her face is wearing that same calm, vacant expression it wore in the video. Rachel looks away from the two of them, studies the apartment – this room is more open than the kitchen, less cluttered with the detritus of four separate lives. It’s almost as nice as Rachel’s apartment.

…

No it isn’t. But it’s nice enough.

“Told you Cosima’s girlfriend was gonna feng – whatever this place,” Sarah says, watching with obvious amusement as Rachel looks around their apartment. “Looks good, yeah?”

“It was nice before,” Helena says. “Now it is too clean and Cosima makes the beast with two backs at many hours with her clean new girlfriend.” She puckers up her lips for a few obscenely wet kissing noises.

“Meathead,” Sarah says. “We’re supposed to pretend that doesn’t happen.”

“Why are we pretending this. They are very loud.”

“What do you do, Rachel?” Alison says with a sharp burst of politeness. Her fingers are frantic on her knitting needles.

“I’m a corporate executive for the DYAD Institute,” Rachel says. “We specialize primarily in biotech, but have fingers in many pies.”

“Pie?” Helena says. “How many pies do you make, neighbor Rachel. Where are the pies.”

Sarah yanks on Helena’s hair and Helena shoves her shoulder into Sarah’s and then pauses the game and leaps on her like a wildcat. They fall onto the rug. Rachel looks across the room at Alison. “You?” she says, already exhausted.

“I’m a massage therapist!” Alison says. “Tension relief, acupuncture. I also have – um. Many pies.” She laughs, awkward and self-conscious. “If you’d ever like to–”

“I think dinner’s ready,” Sarah says, leaping up from the floor and shooting Alison a look that Rachel can’t read. “Don’t you think dinner’s ready, Alison?”

“Cosima has never been on time once in her entire life,” Alison says.

“Well you should go help then.”

“ _I_  will help,” Helena says, rolling herself off the floor and toddling towards the kitchen.

“No–” Alison starts, and then drops the knitting and follows like a very anxious shadow.

Sarah drops back onto the couch, gives Rachel a look of bemused camaraderie. She studies the television screen. “How pissed do you think Helena’d be if I beat her high score in Tetris.”

“I’d imagine you’d know her response better than I would.”

“Exactly,” Sarah says. “You don’t know shite. So if I did it, I could blame you. Yeah?”

“I suppose you’ll do that anyways.”

Sarah lets out a little  _heh_  and picks up the controller, unpauses the game. She is very obviously miserable at it.

“You’re blocking off your own path,” Rachel says.

“Shut up. Have you played Tetris?”

“No, but I do–”

“Right, you’ve never played. So how ‘bout you shut up and let the master – aw,  _shit_.”

“Give me the controller,” Rachel says.

“Come get it,” Sarah says, without taking her eyes off the screen.

Later, when Rachel thinks about it, she’ll blame the wafting stench of marijuana coming from the kitchen – or her day’s worth of exhaustion, or the strange hysteria of being surrounded by these unfamiliar animals. In the moment she has no excuse: she just leans over, crossing over Sarah’s chest, and puts her hands over Sarah’s hands. She guides a block down safely.

“It’d go faster if you sat on my lap,” Sarah says.

“It would go faster,” Rachel says, “if you gave me the controller.”

“You like winning, huh. Never would’ve guessed.”

“Doesn’t everyone?” Rachel says. They clear another line of blocks.

“Depends on the prize,” Sarah says.

“I find winning to be its own reward.”

“Even if it’s a really good prize?” Sarah says. She’s slipped one of her thumbs over Rachel’s hand, and the touch is like a mild electric shock. Static, maybe. 

“I haven’t seen you offer anything,” Rachel says.

“Dinner’s ready!” Cosima calls from the kitchen, and Rachel startles and ricochets away from Sarah. From the television there’s a sad wailing noise as the blocks reach the top of the screen and the game ends.

* * *

Cosima is actually a proficient enough scientist to hold her own in a discussion of DYAD’s latest patent attempts. The food isn’t bad. Would Rachel have come voluntarily? No. Will she come back? Doubtful. As it is it’s an experience that she can bear, and that’s more than she’d thought it would be. As long as she ignores the way Sarah is stabbing her meal into microscopic pieces, and the horrible slurping of Helena eviscerating three plates of food, and Alison’s tight-wound silence – it’s fine.

When the plates are cleared, Rachel excuses herself.

“You’re gonna skip  _dessert?_ ” Cosima says.

“With all due respect,” Rachel says, “it has been a sixteen-hour day. I appreciate your hospitality. Thank you for the food, Cosima. Alison? May I borrow you for a moment.”

Alison’s face goes flat and white. Helena’s head jerks to look at Sarah – who is making the same expression as Alison.

“Alright,” Alison says in a strangled voice. Rachel walks with her into the other room, and then picks the neatest-looking bedroom and pulls Alison in there. (There are two beds; judging by the sorts of plants next to the other bed, it’s Cosima’s.)

“Alison,” Rachel says. “I’m not upset with you, and I don’t believe you’re a homophobe, and it does not matter to me in the slightest what sexual partners you do or don’t bring home. I’m a private person. I’d appreciate it if that privacy wasn’t disturbed. That’s all.”

“Oh,” Alison says. Her face flushes with embarrassment. “I’m so sorr–”

“There’s no need to apologize. As I said, I’m not upset. You were very kind. I appreciated the baked goods. That’s all.”

Alison bites her lip, nods frantically. “Okay!” she says. “Okay.” She clears her throat. “Well, that’s good! Thank you for coming to dinner.”

“Thank you for having me,” Rachel says. Thank god. Her checklist is complete; she can leave. She moves through the living room and quietly exits the apartment before they can attempt to smother her with more friendship. Outside, the hallway is blissfully quiet and does not smell the slightest bit like patchouli.

Then the door opens behind her, and Sarah slips out. She looks wary and furious. “Hey,” she says. “Are you dating Alison now, ‘cause I’ll have to give you the shovel talk, yeah?”

Rachel blinks. She attempts to process that statement, but even when broken down into smaller parts it makes no sense. “Excuse me,” she says.

Sarah leans up against the wall, folds her arms over her chest. “Shovel talk,” she says. “You hurt my roommate, I break your bloody arm.”

“I have no plans to hurt her,” Rachel says slowly, “seeing as we  _aren’t in a relationship_. Good night.” She moves a few precious inches closer to her own apartment door–

And then Sarah ducks around her and cuts her off. “You’re not?”

“No,” Rachel says through her teeth. “I don’t see how it’s any of your business, ‘shovel talk’ or otherwise, but I am not seeing your roommate.  _Let me into my apartment_.”

“Do you want to go out,” Sarah says.

Rachel can’t help herself: she laughs, one single exasperated bark. In the stunned silence that follows she lets herself into her apartment, closes the door, and locks it. She makes for a bottle of wine as quickly as she can without sprinting, and pours herself a glass, and drinks it, and Sarah asked her out on a date. Sarah – Sarah was worried about Alison asking Rachel out because she wanted to do it. All the times that – when Rachel had assumed – Sarah was – oh, honestly. She rests her elbows on her kitchen island, rests her face in her hands.

After a minute, she goes to get ready for bed.

* * *

She doesn’t see Sarah for the next two weeks.

* * *

Rachel hadn’t realized how much Sarah was adjusting her schedule to fit Rachel’s until she suddenly vanishes. She leaves and arrives at different hours, she never uses the elevator, Rachel never hears her through the walls. Her silence is a notable black hole. 

This is a problem, because Rachel reacted horribly and she should probably apologize for it. But Sarah isn’t around to apologize to – so Rachel supposes there’s no need to apologize. At the very worst she loses the residents of Apartment 324 forcing themselves on her, and that isn’t a tragedy at all.

She manages to convince herself of this for about two and a half weeks, and then she’s had enough: she walks next door and knocks.

Helena opens the door. “Sarah is gone,” Helena says. “She died. Sorry.” Then she slams the door.

Rachel blinks at the door. She raises her hand and knocks again.

Helena opens it. “Very sad,” she says. “It was the cancers. She shit herself everywhere and died.”

“Helena,” Rachel says, “I know that isn’t how cancer works. May I speak with her, please.”

“Shit cancer,” Helena says. Unlike Sarah’s face, her face doesn’t ever twitch or move. Rachel hadn’t realized how alive Sarah’s face was until she had to look at Helena for an extended period of time.

“I don’t believe that’s a medical term.”

Helena makes a prolonged fart sound.

Rachel sighs through her nose, and then says – through gritted teeth – “I’d like to apologize. Is she there, or shall I send a telegram.”

“You are bad person,” Helena says. “I should have killed you when I met you, during the spring cleanings.”

“Fine,” Rachel says, and pivots on one sharp heel to leave. Helena makes a loud groaning sound that is something like  _UGHgnluh_  and then throws the door open and storms moodily into the living room. Onscreen some baking show is frozen, and Helena jabs the Play button on the remote like it’s the trigger of a gun she is pointing at Rachel’s head. The show booms back to life. Rachel makes her way through the apartment to the other bedroom, goes inside.

Sarah is lying on the bed, tapping moodily at a laptop that’s balanced on her chest. When she sees Rachel she sits up, slams the laptop shut, and barks: “What the  _hell_.”

“I’m sorry,” Rachel says. “I shouldn’t have laughed. You caught me off-guard. I–”

“Get the hell out of my bloody apartment!” Sarah says. She stands up and looms towards Rachel, somehow gaining a foot in height and a sudden aura of menace. Rachel feels her hands curl into fists; she doesn’t move.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” she says, spitting out each distinct syllable. “I apologize.”

“I don’t give a shit!” Sarah says. She’s too close now. “Will you just get–”

Rachel kisses her. An absolutely terrible idea. Sarah is in the middle of a word and her mouth lolls open at an awkward angle; it isn’t a good kiss, it isn’t even a decent kiss. It was probably the wrong time to kiss Sarah. Rachel makes a go of it for a few seconds anyways, and then stops.

Sarah blinks at her. “What the hell,” she says, but this time her voice is soft and strangled.

“I would have said yes,” Rachel says. “If you hadn’t led with the concept of a committed relationship with your roommate. As it was I was off-kilter, which I think is understandable.”

“Oh,” Sarah says. She steps back, licks her lips, runs her hand through her hair. “Really?” she says, and her voice is thin and high.

“Well,” Rachel says. “There is an easy way to find out.”

The corner of Sarah’s mouth tilts up into a smile. “D’you wanna go out sometime,” she says.

“Why, Sarah,” Rachel says, voice completely flat, “how surprised I am to be asked.”

Sarah laughs, and the tension leaves her bones. She drops back onto the bed. “Piss off,” she says. “Yeah or no?”

“Yes,” Rachel says. “I think I would like that very much.” She pauses, considers. “As long as it involves none of your roommates.”

“You sure?” Sarah says, leaning all of her weight back onto her hands. “You and Cos hit it off, she’s big into polyamory shite–”

Rachel straddles Sarah’s lap, finally reaches out and touches her fingers to the lines of Sarah’s upper arms. “Stop talking about Cosima,” she says.

“Right,” Sarah says faintly. “Yeah, no, who’s that? Don’t know her.” She splays her palms on Rachel’s hips.

“Perfect,” Rachel says, and leans in and kisses her.

* * *

“This’d go faster if you sat on my lap,” Sarah says.

“Don’t,” Rachel says. She vanishes another line of blocks, thumbs easy on the controller. She can feel Sarah looking at her from her seat next to Rachel on the couch. By now Rachel has gotten very good at crushing the constant impulse to kiss Sarah, but that doesn’t mean the urge isn’t there.

“Do,” Helena says from the floor. “Rachel is too good at the Tetris.  _Sestra_. Stop her from being good.”

“Do  _not_ ,” Rachel says, but it’s too late: Sarah has leaned over and kissed her, purposeful and cruel. Her mouth is smiling against the corners of Rachel’s mouth. Rachel lets out a resigned sigh, puts down the controller, and cradles Sarah’s face in her hands. She deepens the kiss into something filthy, just for the revenge of it.

The controller slithers out of her lap, and Rachel hears Helena taking over the game. God damn her. Rachel nips Sarah’s lower lip, doesn’t take the controller back.

“Dinner!” Cosima yells from the kitchen, and Helena drops the controller and charges towards the dining table.

Sarah breaks the kiss. “Dinner,” she says, voice rough, eyes bright.

“Heaven forbid you miss another dinner,” Rachel says. She drops her hand to Sarah’s thigh and begins tracing slow circles with her fingertips. “That would be six weeks in a row.”

“Yeah,” Sarah says dazedly, watching Rachel’s hand. “Yeah, that would be – hey, you wanna go to your apartment?”

“I won’t make you dinner,” Rachel says.

“That’s fine,” Sarah says, “I’ll steal leftovers after.” She leans in and kisses Rachel’s throat, once, twice. From the other room Cosima calls: “Guys?” and then lapses into frustrated muttering.

“You’d better hurry,” Rachel says faintly as Sarah’s mouth presses against her collarbone. “Everyone will be missing you.”

Sarah stands up from the couch, holds out her hand. “Or,” she says.

Rachel smirks and takes Sarah’s hand. From the other room she can hear the clattering of utensils, Alison’s high-pitched piping voice; she sneaks with Sarah to the door, and out into the hallway. Sarah pins Rachel against the wall; Rachel lets her.

“Hey,” Sarah says.

“My apartment is ten steps away,” Rachel says, but she lifts a hand to run it through Sarah’s hair.

“Too far,” Sarah says, and kisses her.

Rachel kisses Sarah back, tangles her hands in Sarah’s hair. For a moment she can hear the sound of warm conversation from Apartment 324, and then the door swings shut and she and Sarah are alone.

**Author's Note:**

> oh my god i'm so sorry i blanked and couldn't think of a title to save my life
> 
> ...anyways. Thanks for reading! Please kudos + comment if you enjoyed! :)


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